Page 51 of The Brothers Bane

“Here it is,” I mutter to Typhon, the roughness in my voice betraying my discomfort.

He scans the desolate strip mall with his brilliant purple eyes, then looks back at me. “This isn’t home, is it?”

I shake my head, feeling a knot form in my throat. I almost summon the will to teleport us away from here, back to somewhere—anywhere—else. But his challenge halts me; it’s like he sees right through me.

“You didn’t grow up in a strip mall,” he says softly.

I sigh and let go of the magic building within me. “No. I didn’t.” With a resigned breath, I reach out and take his hand, leading him away from the shadows of the empty stores. We walk side-by-side through the small town that’s barely more than a glorified interstate rest stop, but that shaped me in ways I’m still unraveling.

As we pass by my old high school, it’s as though every step echoes down empty hallways and across locker-lined walls. It’s been a decade since my graduation, but sometimes it feels like part of me is still trapped here. Memories bubble up—friends, fights, first loves. Despite how fleeting they all were, they’re so vivid it’s like they’re waiting just around the corner.

Finally, we reach Whispering Pines Estates—the name always made me roll my eyes. The only pines are the ones in the forest a mile away. The trailer park is nothing more than dirt lanes and patches of brown grass. My pace slows as we approach, feet crunching over the dry turf; there’s a hesitance in my steps that Typhon picks up on immediately.

“You can disguise yourself,” he whispers from beside me. “You have the power. If I can do it, so can you.”

I’ve never tried to alter my appearance before; it’s always been about getting out, not hiding away. But now... now feels different. I don’t want to go in there as Nemea again, ever.

In the shadows of the sign, I close my eyes and focus on Rachel’s image—her trim frame, fair skin, and light brown hair—a stark contrast to my own features.

When I open my eyes again, Typhon’s look of surprise is all the confirmation I need that it worked. With newfound courage—or maybe it’s just stubbornness—I lead us deeper into the park.

We arrive at a lane lined with double-wides that are trying too hard to look like something they’re not. There it is: my grandparents’ place, neat as a pin on the outside with flower-filled planters hanging off the small deck railing. They’re all fake; neither of my grandparents give a shit about nurturing living things.

Two men sit there: one old enough to be worn down by life itself, the other worn down by choices he made long before he had any right to make them—my grandfather and my father.

My breath catches in my chest; every part of me wants to scream or cry or run—but I do none of those things. Instead, I freeze and whisper fiercely to Typhon without turning around.

“I don’t want to look at them. I can’t look at them.”

He doesn’t argue or ask questions; he just squeezes my hand once before we turn away from what might have been another life—the one I barely escaped by the skin of my teeth.

We land back on the upper viewing platform of the Stratosphere where the other three are leaning on the railing enjoying the view. They turn as a unit when we arrive and are instantly on alert when they see my face; it’s mine again, but likely still shows signs of coming face-to-face with a nightmare.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Campe says. Alcides comes straight to me, cupping my cheek in one big hand.

“I’m fine, really. We went to my hometown.”

“We know,” Alcides says. “Erebus followed you.”

I glance at Erebus, who signs,“No wonder you ran. Those men have darker souls than mine. Would you like me to return there and end them?”

“Death would be too easy,” I grit out. “But no. I don’t want to be responsible for hurting anyone, much less outright killing them. I just want to move on.”

He grins deviously.“I will tell the Furies to expect them when they die.”

“I’m sorry I made you go there,” Ty says softly. He looks so dejected I reach out a hand. He hesitates to close the distance, so I go to him, curling my fingers at the back of his neck.

“It’s okay. I’m glad you were with me. But we had a deal. You owe me your story now.”

He visibly swallows, then cuts his gaze to the others who stand close around us. When he doesn’t immediately speak, Campe says, “I can tell her if you’d prefer.”

Typhon hesitates, and for a moment I think he’s going to take Campe up on her offer. But then he straightens his shoulders, a gesture so human it makes my heart ache for him, and he shakes his head. “No, I promised Nemea. I’ll tell it.”

I’m about to press him, curiosity burning like a fever under my skin about Campe’s involvement, but I hold back. This is Typhon’s moment, his truth to share. And I respect that.

He takes a deep breath, and I can almost see him reaching back through centuries of memories. His voice is low when he starts, the words halting as if he’s pulling them from a well too deep and dark.

“I was... created by Chaos,” Typhon begins. “A gift to entice the Mother Dragon.” My brows furrow at that. The Mother Dragon—a figure shrouded in legend and mystery. “Chaos wanted to show her what they might create together, their own race to rival those born of Fate’s unions with the gods.”

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